Baseballhead:
Hot Damn! It's Baseball!

Michael Cox

This Opening Week edition of Baseballhead is brought to you by Elrod's Sole Wax: "We're back from our recent class-action settlement!"

It didn't feel like Opening Day on Sunday. Sure, the official first game of the season took place, but so did four preseason games and another contest where the Rangers phoned it in against their Oklahoma City affiliate. Let's face it, the "new tradition" of the Sunday opener is not much more than a contractual obligation to ESPN. (ESPN2 actually, but what's a few million fewer homes between friends?)

And that was ever-so-evident on Sunday evening, as the network chose for MLB's ceremonial opener the first 2002 home game of the new-look Angels. Hey, corporate synergy! The concept of the punchless Anaheim squad facing a gutted Tribe isn't exactly what "the biz" would call a boffo matchup, however. But let Disney take one small step at a time -- this whole sports thing confuses and frightens them.

The two highlights of that game, in order:

• My surprise when I tuned in after the opening ceremonies (MLB's 2002 motto: "We're still way more patriotic than you") and briefly wondered if they'd substituted a much more traditional Reds-Mets tilt (If I were Cincy, I'd sue the Angels for stealing my uniforms...oh yeah, and my red shoes. Ha bloody ha);
• Bartolo Colon making up for having the wheels fall off in his last start of 2001 by pitching an Opening Day shutout.

I was much more excited earlier Sunday, when I attended my first live game of the year at Safeco Field. It was another lopsided contest, as the Mariners pummeled new Dodger starter Kazuhisa Ishii (who in fact still had the price tag on him) for five runs in 2-2/3 innings of a 6-3 Seattle victory. There goes Ishii's guest spot on "Malcolm in the Middle."

The result of the game was of little consequence, though. It also happened to be the first really warm day of the year here in Seattle, and I shed my coat early on and relaxed in an almost-empty section of seats, basking in the sun, before remembering I had not applied any sunscreen and moving to the shade. It was a chance to enjoy a moment of Zen reconnection, before the crowds become overwhelming and people begin attempting to start the Wave.

Just then, I looked at the scoreboard ads, where I noticed a huge banner touting "The Best Censored Sports Show Period." Major League Baseball has apparently decided that the word "damn" is too coarse for family viewing. America's Game, sanitized for your protection.

MLB, led by the single most ill-suited man for the job of leading it, is repudiating its own history by pasteurizing the experience until even "damn" is a forbidden word. Cast of Damn Yankees, you are welcome to attend, as long as you tell no one what show you're in. It's ludicrous, and it should not stand.

Thus snapped awake, I realized once again my role in the grand scheme of things. The squeaky wheel seeking the grease. The grain of sand irritating the oyster into making a damn fine pearl. The fast-food cook creating the hepatitis scare which forces the restaurant to actually comply with local health codes. Okay, maybe not that last one.

It is in this spirit that I make the following offer:

Anyone who makes a sign or banner of reasonable size (at least, oh, three feet square) containing either a humorous non sequitur or a sentence including the word "damn," and sends me a photo of said sign taken within the seating area of a recognizable major-league ballpark, shall be duly immortalized on these pages.

Some samples to stimulate your creativity:

• "Manny Ramirez has man-hands"
• "We've got crab legs!"
• "Harry Sez: Let's score some damn runs!"
• "Damn!"

You can appear in the photo with your sign or not. You must send me your name, but you may ask that it be withheld from publication so as not to embarrass you or get you in dutch with the boss for hoisting a banner at Fenway instead of writing this week's "Rumblings & Grumblings." (Oh, but I have already said too much.)

Send the photo and your name to mc@strikethree.com, and I'll post the photo on a special page. At the end of the season the author of the best sign (as judged by me) will receive a Strikethree.com t-shirt. Nothing using actual obscenities, or racist or sexist terms will be accepted (my decision is final).

Official-type text you must read before participating:

By participating, you are agreeing that you are an adult 18 or over, and that you take full responsibility for behavior or content that might get you kicked out of the ballpark, arrested, or beaten to a pulp by other fans.

In case you haven't figured it out, the goal is to make the ballpark experience more enjoyable for those around you, not less. If they want to confiscate the damn sign, let them. Play hard but play clean, okay?

Frankly, I'm not sure whether I'll get even one photo or a truckload, but it's the thought that counts.

I also urge you to attend a game within the next few weeks. If you can't attend a game, sit in a lawn chair , close your eyes, and listen to a game on the radio. If you have a ritual related to baseball, perform it. (If it includes nudity, I don't want to know.)

This is not a time to worry about potential strikes or Selig's misleading revenue statements or even potential 100-loss seasons (if I were in Kansas City, I'd damn sure be at Kauffman anyway). The game is very healthy (how healthy? I'll talk about it next week!) and what you should do is enjoy it, in your own way.

Go forth and drink deep the aura...yes, I have played baseball. Why do you ask?

about the author

Michael Cox was the creator of the legendary "Hit Organist -- Win Suit" sign. No, seriously. Offer a toast to being young and foolish at mc@strikethree.com.